


I (Don't) Need You - Hankcon Big Bang 2019

by LittleLalaith, TempusNoKitsune



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, One scene contains mild non-con, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLalaith/pseuds/LittleLalaith, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempusNoKitsune/pseuds/TempusNoKitsune
Summary: When the state of Detroit faces political chaos, Senator Stern hires ex-cop Hank Anderson to protect her son.Connor doesn't want a bodyguard and he definitely doesn't want someone telling him how to live his life. But as events unfold, he realises that there's more to Hank than meets the eye. And Hank starts to question whether he's content to be Connor's bodyguard when he'd rather be something more ;pArt by the talented Tempusnokitsune!!!





	1. Chapter 1

Detroit - 15th August 2038

The city had changed so much since Hank joined the police force at the turn of the millenium. With each year that went by, he felt himself falling further and further behind on the latest technology trends and cyber laws; the way he'd been trained was growing outdated, in favour of less aggressive approaches and more techno-savvy means of doing their leg-work. At first, it had been portable tablets, then body cams, cyber-security, firewalls, hackers, remote access scams, and suddenly there was a government database containing the details of every civilian in Detroit - more technological tools to ensure that the police would be able to locate suspects in the event of an investigation. 

He guessed that was how this had all come about.

The decision to store the whole state's personal details on a government-run database had been an incredibly controversial one. Senator Amanda Stern had secured board approval by claiming that it was a means of ensuring public safety, assisting with police workloads and time constraints, providing important medical information to the emergency services and to prevent identity fraud. However, a number of people had taken to the streets to protest about their information being kept on a vulnerable platform or their privacy being stripped away; Hank had heard more than a few people crying out against the 'Police Takeover' and the 'Nanny State'. In the end, the politics had weighed too heavily on Hank's shoulders. He wasn't particularly keen on the database himself, but as long as he wore the badge, he was part of the 'police takeover' that people were so worried about. It didn't matter that he'd voted against the bill when it was put to the public, as far as the protesters were concerned he was a Boy in Blue just like the rest of the force - a physical embodiment of the system they wanted to overturn. It had taken a brick, thrown from a protester beyond the barrier of his crime scene, to convince him that police work just wasn't the right place for him anymore. 

Unfortunately, being middle-aged and having zero work experience outside of the police force (aside from a summer spent flipping burgers on a greasy food truck during his academy years), this didn't exactly leave him with many options. He got restless in an office environment, and most entry level positions wouldn't pay enough to cover his weekly food bill, let alone his rent. In the end, he'd decided to set himself up as a private security consultant, putting his knowledge from years on the force to good use. More often than not, he was asked to come in and scope a place out for weak points, maybe take a look at their surveillance set up or put them in touch with someone about their network security. It was quick and easy, each location providing different challenges and opportunities. But he also took on personal guard work when the money was good.

And the money had been exceptionally good for his latest assignment.

Kind of ironic though, he mused, watching the desolate housing estates fade and transform into wide open lawns and immaculate housing as he made his way into the upper class district of the city. Detroit politics had gotten him into this position in the first place, and yet, here he was, taking on a security assignment from the senator herself.

As his old Ford rolled up to the automatic gates of the Stern residence, Hank was reassured to find that he was asked for his name and business, then advised that his ID would be checked at the door. Not bad security. Still, with the protests slowly building into riots, he supposed it paid to be careful. By the time he'd parked up and gone through preliminary security checks, Ms Stern had already been alerted to Hank's arrival - she stood at the front door in a well-tailored suit, her hair clipped professionally back into a bun. Hank smiled and offered his hand in greeting, "Good morning Ms Stern. My name is Hank Anderson, I'm the security specialist you requested."

Amanda smiled politely and shook Hank's hand with a firmness he probably should have expected, "Good morning, thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, come in. I've set out some coffee in the study, I thought we could have a brief discussion about the details of the assignment before you meet my son."

"Your son?" he asked, a little surprised."I won't be guarding you?" 

"That's correct," Amanda nodded slightly, leading Hank through to a large study, lined on each side with bookshelves and cabinets. It was neat and welcoming, the kind of place you might bring someone you wanted to impress; he couldn't help but wonder if the rest of the house held the same grandeur. Hank waited for Amanda to gesture for him to take a seat, reached gratefully for the coffee that sat waiting for him, and listened intently as Amanda explained the intended terms of his employment. 

"As I'm sure you've noticed, I'm careful to take all necessary security measures in regards to my home. Similarly, when I appear for press meetings or public speeches, I make a point of ensuring that suitable security is present at all times... but the state of Detroit is growing restless, Mr Anderson. I have received a number of threats and I have seen, firsthand, the kind of violence that people are willing to inflict in the name of 'protest'," she hesitated for a moment, stirring her coffee absently as she tried to find the most diplomatic approach. Hank sipped his coffee and waited, knowing all too well what kind of violence she was referring to. "While I feel suitably protected by my position in government, I fear that my son is not as favourably situated. He is reasonably well-known to the people of Detroit and, while he does little to cause trouble when he's in the public eye, he is young and occasionally reckless... so I would feel reassured if I knew that there was someone acting in his best interest while he's away from the house."

Hank nodded slightly, processing this information. He had seen a few news stories and newspaper articles about the senator's eldest son, Connor, but he couldn't recall too much about him from the top of his head; he could really only remember his name and the vague image of a well-dressed young man with dark hair.. Truth be told, he probably hadn't paid it much attention when he'd seen the stories. But it was common knowledge that Senator Stern's son was planning on running for a political position in a few years time and he was more tolerated by liberals than his mother. If that was the case, Hank hoped that he would be a less-favourable target for the protestors - but he was wise enough to know that it was wishful thinking. Logic rarely held up when a populus grew restless.

But there had been something in Ms Stern’s wording, 'young and occasionally reckless', that pricked at Hank’s sense of caution. 'Young and reckless' tended to go hand in hand with 'drunk and disorderly' or 'works hard, plays hard'. Maybe it was a stereotype, but it was one that Hank had seen proven time and time again throughout the course of his career. The vast majority of men in that age group, especially those with disposable income, liked living in the fast lane: parties, cars, holidays, and the kind of risks that came with a life of few consequences. It wasn't a criticism; if Hank had that kind of money, he'd probably have drunken himself into a coma years ago. But that kind of behaviour would make his life a little more difficult if he was directly responsible for the kid's safety. 

"I think I understand. Although, I just want to be 100% clear on this before we get into the gristle and grit of what you need from me..." Hank started, catching himself using coarser phases and feeling unusually embarrassed, suddenly hyper-aware of his speech patterns when talking to someone whose literal job was 'sounding professional'. "Do you require a live-in bodyguard for your son, or would this be a 'call me when you need me' kind of situation?"

Amanda smiled slightly and placed her coffee back on the table, crossing her hands delicately in her lap. "Ideally, I would like for you to remain on site. There is a spare room available with a personal en suite, and you would be welcome to make use of all general areas such as the kitchen and garden. Of course, I appreciate that this can be a disruptive living situation and so I would be more than happy to provide you with financial compensation for your time. The figure we discussed over the phone was indicative of an 'on standby' call out rate; I would be willing to double that figure if you would agree to live on site for the next six months and provide Connor with ongoing security."

Hank almost choked on his coffee. The sum they discussed on the phone had been more than enough to secure his interest, and probably would have been enough to convince him to live on site. But if she wanted to pay him double to live in a much nicer house for a few months, he was definitely not going to complain. "I think I can be persuaded," he started, voice a little hoarse from his attempts to inhale his coffee. "But I'd feel like a scam-artist if I made you pay double... Perhaps we can work out a figure somewhere in between." he offered.

The expression that settled on Amanda's face was difficult to read - stoic, amused, appreciative, trusting. It could have been any of those, maybe all of them at once. "You're an honest man, Mr Anderson. I think you'll be a good influence on Connor… We can agree a final sum when we write up the contract. In the meantime, I think it would be best if you and Connor were formally introduced."

Hank nodded and finished his coffee, placing his mug on the tray beside Amanda's. He followed her through the house, making a note of each room and the layout of the building as she gave him the grand tour. It was a modest enough residence, but lavishly decorated and maintained; it spoke of wealth but, more importantly, it spoke of good taste. Amanda concluded the tour at the door to Connor's room, which was situated at the back of the house, overlooking the garden. She knocked firmly, her posture a little tense as a voice floated out to them from the other side of the door. Hank frowned slightly - why would she be tense about seeing her own son?

“Come in…” the voice was a rich tenor, well enunciated but dripping with frustrated irritation.

When Amanda pushed the door open, Hank understood why she had been dreading the introduction.

The room was mostly dark, curtains drawn against the dying light of the evening so that only a single corner of the room was illuminated by a decorative lamp. A crushed velvet chaise lounge occupied the spot-lit corner, providing a dramatic presentation of Hank’s newest charge. And what a dramatic presentation is was… The young man draped across the collection of cushions was clad in a thin, baby pink dressing gown, tied loosely around his slender waist. The strong lighting broke through the layered mesh of the robe, emphasising the dark fabric of his underwear and the pseudo-lingerie effect of his socks and accompanying garters. His short, dark brown hair was lightly ruffled, a rogue curl falling across his forehead while the rest splayed against a plump pillow in a halo. Equally rich brown eyes surveyed Amanda and then Hank, lingering a little too long on the latter, before a mischievous smirk claimed the corner of his mouth. Delicate hands closed the book he had been reading and placed it aside, his long, slender legs unfurling as he stood, closing the distance until he was leaning provocatively against the door frame. 

"If you were going to buy me a stripper, you could at least pick someone cute."


	2. Chapter 2

Hank wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but a scantily clad man wearing a negligee had not been on the top of his list. He forced himself to meet Connor’s gaze as he approached, pointedly ignoring the freckled expanse of his chest that lay exposed beneath the fluffy frame of the robe. As though testing him, Connor toyed with the hem near his right shoulder, pulling it back just slightly to present the pale column of his throat. His lips twisted into a mischievous smile as Amanda addressed him. 

"Connor, I told you that we would be expecting company. Please get dressed," Amanda chided in a calm but clipped tone. 

"If he's going to be babysitting me at all hours, he's going to see me in less. And probably doing all sorts of things that aren't suitable for formal company…” he winked, fixing Hank with a coy smile before straightening his posture and facing his mother directly. “I figured we might as well cut out the awkward middle step and just skip right to the part where I'm comfortable after a long day," Connor answered, his tone a perfect mirror to Amanda's, with the slightest hint of mockery. Hank got the feeling he would do well in politics if he kept up this kind of manipulative reasoning. 

Catching Amanda's expression and sensing a Mexican Stand-off waiting to happen, Hank spoke up hesitantly. "How about we strike a compromise here? You go and put on something comfortable but modest and I'll consider that decent enough for a chat in the study."

Connor regarded him for a moment, his expression carefully neutral as he fixed dark eyes on his new body guard. Hank met his gaze and held it, unintimidated by the kid's status or behaviour; rich or not, Hank didn't often buckle under a glare. Especially when it came from a twenty-something year old twink a silk robe, who looked like he weighed 100lb when wet. Eventually, Connor sighed and shut the door; Amanda nodded and gestured for Hank to follow her back to the study.

"I'd apologise for Connor's behaviour but I'm afraid it's something you'll have to get used to," she explained, settling back into her seat while they waited for the little prince to bless them with his presence. “He can be incredibly stubborn when he isn’t getting his own way.”

"It's no trouble, ma'am. I've dealt with worse and I'll deal with worse again," Hank chuckled, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

When Connor finally stepped into the study, he had changed into a baby-blue sports suit, his feet clad only in socks. He ignored Hank completely at first, making a big show of walking straight past him to take the seat opposite his mother. Hank would have laughed if he hadn't been trying to make a good impression for the senator - Connor was a brat, trying to get a rise out of him by being passive aggressive and withdrawn. But Hank had been a cop for far too many years and knew the tell-tale signs of insecurity when he saw them. He couldn't exactly blame him either. If things were getting dangerous enough that he required a live-in bodyguard, that was bound to make him feel on edge; his rebellion against Amanda's decision was most likely a rebellion against the circumstances that made Hank's presence necessary. If he could get Hank to walk away, it would mean that things were safe enough for him to not need a bodyguard at all. At least, that was the read Hank got from him. Either that, or the kid really was just a brat. 

"Connor, this is Hank Anderson. He'll be staying here as your personal guard and will attend to your safety during public events," Amanda explained, pointedly ignoring the way Connor sat sideways across the armchair so that he could scan his gaze disinterestedly over Hank's cheap suit and scuffed watch. 

"I don't need a babysitter," Connor started petulantly. 

"Good, because I'm not interested in babysitting," Hank interrupted, his voice level and calm. "I'm not here to stop you from doing whatever it is you want to do. You can continue to gamble or party or whatever it is you don't want me seeing. But I'm not going anywhere, Mr Stern. Your safety will be my priority; nothing more, nothing less."

His answer seemed to surprise Connor, silencing him for a moment. When he eventually spoke, his expression seemed a little lighter, less defensive. "Then get ready to relive the 80s, Hank. You're going to have to protect me from a lot of alcohol and nightclubs."

"So be it," Hank shrugged, letting the jab about his age slip under the radar for now. Well, maybe not entirely. "We can go out clubbing as soon as you're old enough."

The comment earned a laugh; a real one, not the polite or mocking laugh that he'd expected, "As far as watchdogs go, you're not too bad..." 

Hank dipped his head in a pseudo-bow, watching how Connor subconsciously righted his posture and sat correctly in the chair - less guarded, less determined to make a scene. Amanda seemed less defensive too, her expression carefully neutral but more relaxed now, her posture more settled. If this had been a test, Hank was fairly confident that he'd passed. Amanda took the opportunity to go through the contract with Hank, agreeing his salary and the terms of his employment - Connor remained mostly silent throughout the negotiation but piped in with a comment or two when they discussed how closely Hank would be required to watch him. With the contract agreed and signed, Connor stretched languidly and rose to his feet, slipping an arm through Hank's in an overly friendly gesture.

"If we're all done with the boring part, how about I show you to your room?" Connor suggested in a tone that tilted just a little too close to 'flirtatious'. Hank had to fight the urge to laugh. He had seen it coming - bratty sulking hadn't won him any favours, so he would try to suck up to Hank in an effort to catch him off guard. If Hank's experience with manipulative rich boys was anything to go by, this would last until Hank told him to pack it in, and then he'd most likely opt for either a hyper-formal approach or a 'you work for me' attitude. Maybe both. That was fine by Hank; he was there to make sure the kid didn't get hurt, Connor didn't necessarily have to like him.

"Thank you, Mr Stern. But I've already been given a tour of the house," he gently declined, removing his arm from Connor's grasp. "As my employment doesn't begin until tomorrow morning, I think I'd best be heading home to pack my things. However, I look forward to seeing you bright and early."

As Hank drove home, he mentally prepared himself for the challenge ahead. Connor clearly didn’t like the idea of having a personal bodyguard living in his home and was already using every trick in the book to try and get a rise out of the ex-cop, but that wasn’t the full scope of the problem. Seeing Connor in that robe, the way he’d slipped his arm through Hank’s and leaned close… it had kindled something in him, caught his interest. Connor was handsome, even without the need for the robe. If Hank was going to stay neutral and focus on Connor’s safety, he needed to make sure that his interest didn’t get the better of him. Besides, if Connor caught even the slightest suggestion that Hank found him attractive, he’d have Hank wrapped around his little finger before the end of the day.

He just hoped the Stern residence had a suitably cold shower… and that Connor didn’t make a habit of walking around in his underwear.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite Connor's protests about not needing a babysitter, Hank found himself waiting in the main reception hall long past the agreed time for their morning briefing; he hadn't so much as heard the young politician emerge from his room. It had been agreed that Hank would report to the reception hall at 8am each morning (unless instructed otherwise) so that Connor could fill him in on the schedule for the day, which should give Hank ample time to prepare suitable security measures for Connor's safety. It was currently 08:23 and Connor was nowhere to be seen. 

Reluctantly, Hank made his way to Connor's bedroom and knocked, bracing himself for whatever state of undress his charge might be in; when he received no answer, he sighed and opened the door slightly. "Mr Stern, I'm coming in. Are you decent?"

"Hm? ...Mm," Came the muffled response. 

Hank wasn't at all surprised to find that Connor was still in bed; his long pale legs twisted in the blanket and his dark hair ruffled into a nest of curls. Hank had expected his room to be a mess of discarded clothes and cluttered surfaces, but it looked like Connor kept a fairly clean ship despite his demonstrated lack of organisation. Here and there, Hank could see awards and certificates, modestly framed and displayed above his writing desk, the surfaces otherwise bare except for the single orchid on his nightstand and the small artistic fish tank containing a handful of dwarf gourami. It was neat, professional. A complete contrast to the mess of limbs and blanket that currently occupied the bed.

"Good morning, Mr Stern," Hank greeted a little louder than necessary. "We were due for a briefing this morning at 8am. It is almost half past, so I thought I'd better come and check that you were alive."

There was a disgruntled groan from the bundle of fabric and Connor reluctantly raised his head to look at his newly acquired time-keeper. "Meeting with The Jericho Foundation isn't till 9:30... lemme sleep till half eight, then I'll be dressed and ready by 9. We have plenty of time."

Hank sighed slightly, checking his watch. "I'll need the address of the charity, the name of their head of security and your schedule for the rest of the day. The whole point of us meeting at 8 each morning is to give me enough time to organise your safety measures."  
Connor sat up slowly, running a hand clumsily through his own hair, pushing it back into some semblance of order; his eyes bleary with sleep but kindling to life with a spark of irritation. "It's a private meeting, Hank. I doubt someone's going to attack a charity for abuse victims..."

Hank had a number of stories up his sleeve for occasions like this: maybe he could tell Connor about the time someone had set fire to a homeless shelter; or the day Hank had been forced to pull three infant children out of a lake because their mother had suffered a breakdown and tried to drown them; or perhaps the story of how he'd intercepted a trafficking ring that was using a hospice as a front for the financial records. Humanity was often unkind, and conflict brought out the worst in people. But he doubted that any of that would matter to Connor. A cautionary tale about drowning children didn't seem as high on his priority list as an extra five minutes of sleep. Hank caught the flicker of irritation and took a breath, trying to let go of the cruel thought. He couldn't blame the guy for wanting some sleep, and he didn't know the things Hank had seen... naivety wasn't a sin, but it could be dangerous.

"Let's hope you're right. I'll organise the security for your arrival, just meet me downstairs when you're ready." Hank conceded, turning to leave. 

By the time he'd scoped out all possible routes to the charity and informed the driver of the safest course, called the foundation and arranged for discreet access through one of the emergency exits for the sake of Connor's safety from the press and potential protesters, and looked through the blueprints of the Foundation's building, Connor had finally made his way downstairs in a smart navy suit and tie, his hair now tamed except for a single rogue curl that had gained some notoriety with political artists and supporters to his cause. He didn't greet Hank at first, instead putting on his shoes in silence. Hank could read a stiff hesitation in his shoulders, the forced casual air of someone trying to act natural. It was a shame; he'd hoped that him and Connor would be able to start on a positive note, but there was still time to settle into their professional relationship. 

"I just need to stop by the coffee shop on the corner before we go. I'm itching for a macchiato... Want me to get you anything?" Connor asked with careful levity. 

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll grab something myself while we're there," Hank countered, sensing the implication in Connor's offer and shutting it down gently. Connor had wanted to go by himself, hence the offer to bring something back for Hank rather than inviting him to join. This early on in his employment, he couldn't afford to give Connor much slack - he knew it wasn't going to do him any favours, but he'd rather Connor disliked him than have his charge get attacked on the first day of his new job. 

"Aren't you busy doing security stuff?" Connor asked expectantly.

"Nope. All settled, so I’m ready to go when you are," Hank smiled, trying his best not to sound too smug.

The sheer force of willpower that it took not to sigh almost killed Connor. Instead, he smiled tightly and gestured to the front door. "Do you need to scope out the front lawn before I get in the car? I'd hate for a trained hawk to come swooping down and gouge my eyes out or something."

Hank couldn't help but chuckle at that, the sound warm and pleasant. "Nah, don't see much threat of that. Come on, the sooner we get some caffeine into you, the sooner I'll be done with your sass."

There was a flicker of unadulterated frustration on Connor's features, before it was replaced with a cool, professional smile. "Remember who pays you, Mr Anderson." Full House. Bingo. Hank had called it. 

"Oh, I haven't forgotten. Your mother has been very explicit in the terms of my employment. I work for her, to protect you. Whether you like it or not," he stated, smiling. He had to admit, he was kind of enjoying the little back and forth. "So how about we quit the pissing contest and get you to this charity meeting?"

Connor opened his mouth to speak but promptly closed it, glaring at Hank with petulant rage before he stormed out towards the car. Hank followed at a casual pace, taking his seat in the back and updating the driver on the best route, making sure to factor in the coffee shop on the way. When they pulled up, Connor stepped out of the car and walked briskly into the coffee shop before Hank could make any checks, clutching at any small action he could take to prove a point. Hank followed, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he surveyed the coffee shop, gradually walking over to Connor at the till and making an effort to hang back to give him space. That was made a little more difficult when Connor patted his pockets and gave Hank a falsely friendly smile. 

"Well, shoot. Looks like I forgot my wallet. Do you mind covering this for me, Hank?" he asked, eyes blown puppy-wide. Christ, if Hank had been interested in being pally with this client, he'd be getting emotional whiplash. As it happened, he knew that manipulation was as manipulation did. Connor was looking to get a rise out of Hank one way or the other, but unfortunately for him, Hank was mostly just entertained by the game - enjoying the effect that his calm demeanor had over the irked politician. He shrugged and placed his card on the machine, thanking the barista. Connor took his coffee and made his way back to the car, his shoulders tense with irritation. 

He didn't say another word while they drove to the Jericho Foundation, focusing on his tablet and the notes he was making in preparation for the meeting. It suited Hank just fine, leaving him with a moment of peace before he had to walk patrols around the building and negotiate access policy with the security at the foundation. By the time they reached the charity, Connor seemed to have calmed down a little, his irritated expression now closer to concentration. Hank followed him as they made their way through the back entrance, escorting Connor to the meeting room before taking a lap around the building to ensure that the site was secure. When he came back to the meeting room, Connor was in a deep discussion with the founder, Markus Manfred, about how government funding and support would allow the foundation to purchase safe accomodation sites for victims of abuse. Connor was focused intently on the conversation, making notes and asking questions whenever he could - he was taking it seriously. Hank leaned against the back wall and watched him for a moment, surprised to see a side of him that so fully contrasted the brat he'd been dealing with all morning. This was a man who cared about his community, a man who wanted to do his best to help. It wasn't hard to see why he'd built up quite the following amongst the younger demographics and the left wing. 

This was the Connor that Hank had expected - the Public Facing Politician who knew how to put his best foot forward in social situations. He wore the mask perfectly, but it was a mask. As was the childish behaviour he'd shown Hank back at the house... both ends of the spectrum were exaggerations that served a purpose in Connor's life. But neither of them were a perfect fit, neither of them allowed any room for the person he truly was. The thought left Hank curious as to how Connor would act when he didn't feel observed, the private personality of someone who spent so much time pretending to be a squeaky clean professional - maybe that was why he fought Hank so hard in the first place. His home was a safe place for him to put away the formal persona and allow himself to be himself. With Hank watching his every move, it must have seemed as though his profession was encroaching on his personal life. In many ways, it was.

When the meeting ended, Connor walked over to Hank and followed him back to the car. He frowned and rolled down the window when Hank didn't get in, "Are you coming?"

Hank shook his head slightly, deciding to cut the guy some slack after all. "Nah, I need to swing by the house to pick up a few last bits and pieces. I'll see you back at the house... I have my phone if you need me, I won't be far."

The slow degrees of relief that claimed Connor's smile were all the reassurance Hank needed to confirm that he'd made the right call. "Alright. Take your time, I'm not going anywhere this afternoon."

And Hank decided that he would. He'd take as long as he could, if it meant Connor had a chance to relax in the security of his own home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: This chapter contains some brief non-con but Hank steps in to stop it.

Hank wasn't born yesterday. He'd seen the way Connor had swiped the bottle of wine after dinner and taken it to his room, he'd also heard the music music rolling from the space underneath Connor's door when he'd approached the room to debrief. He’d spotted his shower-damp hair and the outfit hastily thrown onto the chaise lounge when he'd checked in with Connor about his schedule for the next day. He'd bet his pension on it: Connor was planning on going out. When Hank had asked about his schedule, Connor explained that he didn't have any meetings until 2pm the following day, but he didn't mention any of his plans for the evening. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have been any of Hank's business. But clubs were occasionally dangerous and he was under strict instructions to accompany Connor whenever he was out in public. Unless he was planning on throwing a house party, it looked like Hank was going out to a club... 

At around 10pm, Hank heard Connor's careful footsteps descending the stairwell. He looked up from his position by the front door and fixed Connor with a raised eyebrow, "A little dressed up for a trip to the kitchen. Are we going somewhere?"

Connor's gaze snapped to Hank, surprise and dread fighting for dominance in his expression. He was wearing tightly fitted black jeans and a translucent shirt with a gridwork of thicker black fabric that seemed to be defending only the smallest part of Connor's modesty; his hair was more ruffled, framing the electric blue eyeliner that bordered his blue contact lenses. Hank had to admit, he looked good. Good enough to catch a lot of attention if he wasn't careful. 

"I'm going out. You're not coming," Connor stated plainly, pulling on his shoes and taking a thin leather jacket from the hook near the door. 

"Correction: you're going out and I'm coming with you," Hank countered, gesturing to the nice grey shirt he'd picked out for the occasion. "Don't worry, you can drink yourself to oblivion for all I care. You can hit on whoever you want, so long as they don't try to drag you off to a second location and if you happen to want to go somewhere private, you can get a taxi here with the beau of your choice and I'll follow in a different car to make sure you get home safe. You won't even know I'm there."

Connor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his manicured thumb and forefinger. He thought it over for a moment, weighing up the threat to his aesthetic versus the threat to his mood if he got into a fight with Hank before going out. "Ok, here's how this is going to work... You'll follow me into the club at a distance and stay next to the DJ booth. From there, you'll be able to see the dancefloor and the bar without any trouble, so I'll be in sight at all times. You don't enter the club with me, you don't approach me unless you absolutely have to, and you definitely don't follow me into the bathroom. Sound good?"

Hank hadn't been clubbing in decades, but he'd always assumed that arriving with your own personal bodyguard would have been the kind of thing that gave you a positive reputation. It spoke of importance, of celebrity... but then maybe that was the point. Maybe Connor wanted to go to this place so he could blend into the crowd, forget his professional obligations for a little while. Seemed reasonable enough. Although, with the shirt and the eyeliner, it didn't look like he was fully content to melt into the background.

"Alright," Hank agreed, taking his coat from the hook and shrugging it over his shoulders. "Do you need me to drive us there?"

"No need, taxi should be waiting at the gate," Connor explained, leading him out into the cool night. 

Connor spent the duration of the car ride messaging someone on his palm-display phone; one long leg balanced on the knee of the other, his foot bouncing to the music coming from the radio. More than once, Hank found his gaze wandering over Connor’s outfit, taking in the subtle cinch of his waist, the artfully positioned bands of fabric that allowed a peek at his flawless stomach and chest. Each time he caught himself looking, a shot of guilt and shame washed over him - Connor looked good, but Hank was under a professional obligation to protect him, any distraction could prove fatal. Besides, any perceived flirting on Connor’s end was more likely to be a form of manipulation than a genuine interest. Besides, Hank had passed his prime - Connor could do better and probably would. But still, sometimes it was nice to look...

The taxi stopped outside an industrial warehouse and Hank had to double check with Connor that they were in the right place before stepping out of the car. Once out in the night air, Hank could hear the low thump and pulse of music coming from inside; something bass-heavy and entirely too synthetic, but he guessed it was the sound of a new generation. He watched as Connor joined the queue and waited for a few others to join before lining up, keeping Connor in his sight at all times. He felt like mutton amongst lambs... everyone in the line seemed to be around Connor's age, dressed in varying degrees of skin-showing apparel, some with hairstyles that Hank could track back to their respective decades: the retro recall of the 40s undercut, one or two with the shaved punk styles of the 70s, and a few of those ridiculous top knots of the early 2000s. 

When he got to the door, the security guy looked at him with suspicion and Hank had to show his security badge to prove that he wasn't up to anything untoward... at the very least, he found their caution reassuring, but it did little for his ego. Stepping into the warehouse, Hank was temporarily stunned; the entire loading bay section of the warehouse had been converted into a nightclub - the DJ booth was perched up on the raised platform leading into the factory, leaving the space previously used for lorry access open as a dancefloor; the foreman's office had been repurposed as a cloak room and Hank could see the bar that had been fashioned out of the repackaging bay. It was charmingly industrial, throwing Hank back to a time in his late twenties when he'd joined a friend on a punk revival tour through Amsterdam. 

Thankfully, being 6'2 had it's advantages in a place like this. Scanning over the heads of the crowd, he spotted Connor at the bar, leaning provocatively against the counter as he ordered a drink, occasionally casting a side eye at one of the other club-goers. He shook his head good-naturedly and walked over to the raised platform, taking a seat on the steps that led up to the booth. Thankfully, his position meant that he was behind most of the speakers, so the noise wasn't as bad as he'd expected, but it was still loud enough to guarantee that he'd have a migraine by the end of the night. He watched Connor floating through the crowd, greeting a few familiar faces and losing himself to the music. At first, he sent occasional glances over to Hank, conscious of his presence even while he was surrounded by so many others... but then Hank noticed something that he wasn't entirely convinced he'd read correctly. 

Connor looked over at him with a bright smile and a wink, before he pulled a young man closer and danced up against him, hands wandering over the stranger's shirt and over his hips before Connor stole a kiss - slow, messy... and his gaze fixed on Hank as he did it. Hank frowned slightly, shifting uncomfortably as he was forced to watch. What the hell was the kid playing at? Was he trying to make him uncomfortable, forcing him to focus on the intimacy that Connor hadn't wanted him to see, so that he gave up and left him alone? Or was he trying to flirt with Hank in the most indirect way, trying to make him too uncomfortable to work with Connor altogether? A tiny part of him wondered if Connor wasn't flirting for another reason entirely... but he scoffed at the faint hope, running a palm over the age-bleached grey of his trimmed beard. Sure... Like that would be an option. 

Throughout the night, Connor kept up his little games. Dancing in groups, slinking away to get up close and personal with a new stranger, stealing kisses and intimate touches before ghosting back to his friends. And each time, Connor looked up at Hank, making sure that he was watching before engaging with his target. One such conquest seemed to push subtly to its very lowest limit - Connor had honed in on a taller man with mid-length blonde hair, stocky and well-built across the shoulders... not too dissimilar to Hank's stature. He stayed with him the longest out of his many flings, encouraging large hands to explore his slender frame, leaning up to pepper kisses and the occasional flash of teeth over the skin of his throat. Hank watched, enchanted by the false mirror that Connor was presenting to him. The way he seemed so small, so fragile beneath those hands. How pliant... his features easing into seductive pleasure as the stranger, the Would-Be Hank, dipped lower to whisper something in Connor's ear. Something altogether too warm and too sharp was tumbling around in Hank's chest, something he might have called 'envy' if he admitted to himself that he found Connor's displays enticing. 

After a while, Connor made his usual attempt to float back to his friends, but the stranger clasped a hand to his arm, pulling him back. Hank frowned and stood slowly, watching for a moment longer, just in case Connor managed to handle the situation by himself. There was a hurried exchange of words, Connor's expression passing from playful teasing, to worry, to anger and very suddenly into fear. Hank’s hesitation broke. He vaulted down from the steps and pushed his way through the crowd, oblivious to the shouts of protest as he moved people aside. He was a moment too late; the stranger had pulled Connor flush against him, hands roaming where they were no longer welcome. Connor was squirming frantically, eyes squeezed tight against the invasion as though he could wish it away just by the act of not looking. 

Hank drew back a fist and landed a punch square against the base of the assailant's skull. The would-be doppelganger was stunned long enough to let go of Connor, who fell to his knees and curled in on himself defensively as Hank braced himself for a retaliating blow. Curving his shoulder forward to guard against the returned punch, Hank countered with a sharp strike to the man's jaw and drove his weight into the man's central mass. From that point on, it was a confusing mix of grapple and release, punch and counter, weight thrown and pulled until Hank managed to pin the stranger against the wall of the raised platform, a rough hand pressed to his throat. 

"He said no..." he snarled, voice low and hoarse with the effort of the brawl.

He waited until panic glistened in the man's eyes, then released him, letting him fall to the ground with choked coughs and ragged inhalations. Then he hurried back to Connor, kneeling at his side and touching a gentle hand to his shoulder; the initial flinch sent a shockwave of guilt through Hank's system, reminding him that he'd let Connor down, that he'd been too slow. "It's ok, Connor. It's me..."

Connor looked up at him, artificially blue eyes made all the more surreal by the veil of tears that were building in them; thin lines of electric blue traced the gentle curve of his cheek where they'd spilled. After a moment, he leaned into Hank's touch, hiding himself in the space beneath his chest and shoulders. "I want to go home..."

Hank nodded and slipped a hand around his shoulders, helping him up and keeping him close as they made their way through the crowd. Connor didn't make any attempt to move away, his body turned in against Hank's as they walked, his gaze fixed on the floor. He seemed so small, defeated… Stepping into the cold night air, Hank called a taxi through an app and waited with Connor near the roadside. After a few long moments, he found the strength to voice something that had weighed on his tongue from the moment he saw Connor in that predator's arms. "I'm sorry, Con…” he forced out, the words tumbling weakly over his lips. “I hesitated when I shouldn't have...I let you down."

Synthetic blue eyes lifted to meet his and there was a momentary pause before Connor slipped his arms around Hank, holding him tightly and burying his face against his chest. Hank blinked and held him close, registering the warmth of Connor’s breath against the hollow of his neck as he spoke. "Don't be... I was acting out, and it backfired... You helped me..." he smiled weakly, resting his chin on Hank's collarbone so that he was looking up at him. "Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

Hank should have known that the little bust-up at the club would get out to the public eventually... while Connor wasn't exactly an A List celebrity, he was famous enough to warrant press involvement when things turned sour, especially when his guard was recognised as the former Lieutenant of the Detroit Police Department. Throw in a little statewide fear of police brutality, pepper in some volatile political climate, and it was a news story just ripe for the picking. Hank could almost see the headline:

STERN WORDS: POLITICAL PRODIGY CAUSES CLUB CHAOS

It didn't trigger straight away. There had a been a day of silence from the media, giving Connor a little time to lick his wounds and recover from the incident while they gathered anonymous tips and leaked photographs from social media. But the false sense of peace was cut short when the phones started ringing in the Stern household. At first, Connor had politely declined any comment, but the calls were ceaseless and his refusals to speak were prompting more aggressive tactics from the press. Hank overheard Connor protesting that he hadn't "set his lacky" on the guy, his voice strained and almost pleading behind the facade of professional calm. In the end there had been nothing for it: Connor had called a small press conference to address the issue. 

Standing behind the front door, dressed in a respectable grey suit, Connor was doing his best to repress the emotional backlash from the events at the club, trying to present a polished appearance for the sake of his career. In truth, it was a sight that broke Hank a little - watching him force everything down, lying to himself about the things he felt, just so he could defend his reputation against the media sharks. There was no shame in what he had done: he was a consenting adult, who had been in a room with other consenting adults; when he had withdrawn consent, he was assaulted. He wasn't the one in the wrong here. And yet he was the one taking the blame for the 'violence' that had occured. Christ, maybe if Hank hadn't swung first. Maybe if he'd tried restraining the guy before throwing a punch... but he had reacted on the basis of years of experience and he was willing to defend himself on that point. He had been facing someone with a physical advantage on him, so he was best served by landing the first blow. Besides, every second lost was a second longer that Connor was being forced into a situation against his will. Hank wasn't going to just stand by and politely ask the asshole to stop molesting his client. It had been instinct, but it had also been a hook for the media to hang Connor on. 

"Do I look okay?" Connor asked, his voice quiet as he adjusted his tie for the fourth time. 

"Here, let me fix that," Hank gently moved his fingers out of the way and fixed the tie, noticing the faint tremor in Connor's hands as he moved them aside. Once the tie was neatly secured, Hank reached for his hand and pressed it between the warm strength of his own. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," he answered a little too quickly, his tone dismissive. When he caught Hank's raised brow, he sighed and looked away. "I'll be okay once this is over with. It's all gotten way out of proportion."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Connor."

"I wish the press felt that way... Apparently I'm a 'bad influence' and 'too promiscuous'. I must have forgotten that all politicians are supposed to be sexless reptiles," Connor huffed a weak laugh, turning worried eyes to Hank. "They're probably going to try and direct questions to you personally. You don't have to answer, I can deflect them for you."

"I don't mind if they want to ask, Connor. Being a former Lieutenant means I've had an unfortunate amount of exposure to the media," And wasn't that the truth! He'd been lumped with the responsibility of handling press conferences whenever there was an enquiry into police procedure, or any time a case went unsolved for a little too long. He was very rarely sent out to face the media when there was good news. Good news never sold papers... "I know the drill; be honest but vague, focus on the positives, rephrase any condemning accusations. Try not to address the reporters as 'vultures'."

That brought a smile to Connor's lips, his hyper-stoic persona temporarily broken by a genuine glint of something underneath. He squeezed Hank's hand gently and nodded, hesitating for a moment too long before letting go. "That sounds like the general jist of it. Come on, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can stop worrying about it."

Hank nodded and waited for Connor to give a nod, then opened the door to the front steps of the house. A crowd of reporters and journalists were gathered behind a security barrier, guarded by two of Hank's contracted officers. He walked Connor to the podium then stood a few paces off, watching the crowd carefully. Press conferences could be a nightmare to organise, especially when they were so close to a client's home; if anyone was planning to take action against the Stern household, this would be the perfect opportunity. That was the main reason Hank had been so strict with the security, ensuring that each reporter had ID, a press pass and was thoroughly searched before entering the premises. He probably hadn't improved their moods, but Hank couldn't give less of a crap about their feelings. They hadn’t cared about Connor’s and as the question started flowing, it became apparent that they never would. 

It was harrowing. Connor was interrogated about the photos that had been leaked of him with multiple men, questioned about his reasons for bringing security with him to a nightclub, pressed for more information about whether criminal charges were being filed... Hank could only watch as Connor offered the least offensive answers available to him, his shoulders tight and his hands fidgeting nervously with a coin behind the podium whenever he was talking. Each accusation was an arrow against the armour of his professionalism, some of them glancing off as he demonstrated his strength, but a few sinking themselves into the weaker areas of his persona, their barbed edges cutting deep. Hank wanted to carry him inside, to protect him from the onslaught of questions and queries that made him out to be the guilty party. He'd been through too much already... but Hank couldn't protect him from this. Guns and protestors, sure. But not the press. Not from the spotlight of his own profession. 

"There are some who speculate that the fight was caused because your security specialist was emotionally compromised, and that your accusations against the victim were fabricated as a means to protect your employee. Is there any truth to that claim?" came one voice, and Hank saw the gradual descent into devastation that played in Connor's eyes. He hesitated, trying to figure out where to start, warring with his instinct to lash out against the injustice. The reasoning given for the fight had been just that, a reason, not an accusation. Despite everything, Connor had decided not to press charges because he didn't want it to be seen as an abuse of power or influence. And the fight had been for Connor's safety, not because Hank was jealous or unhinged. He paused for a moment as he struggled to find the positive spin, unable to figure out which point he needed to prioritise. In the end, he was left frozen, the coin squeezed painfully into his palm as he fought back tears. Hank had seen enough.

"That's all we have time for this morning. Thank you all for your questions," Hank tried not to growl as he spoke, slipping an arm around Connor's shoulder and ushering him inside. It was probably a bad move, more fuel for the fire, but he couldn't let them tear Connor apart like that.

Once they were inside, Connor looked at him, bewildered. "They think I'm lying..." his voice was breath-thin and he was shaking more visibly now that they were safe within the walls of his home. 

Hank pulled him close, holding him tightly as he felt Connor crumble beneath his hands. He was helpless to do anything except be there, arms securing him against his chest as Connor broke into choked sobs. Gradually, Hank lifted a hand and smoothed Connor's hair back with tender motions, leaning his cheek against Connor's temple to help him feel safe. "Hey... it's okay. We both know what happened in that club. They were just pushing your buttons to get a story... you know what those assholes are like..." 

He was faintly aware of Connor's fingers clutching at his shirt, unable to pull himself back into the neat persona of Politician now that the walls had fallen. He stayed there, crying until the frustration and the fear, the loathing and the injustice all soaked into the fabric of Hank's jacket, leaving him with nothing but gentle, hitching breaths. When he was sure that Connor was feeling more steady, Hank loosened his grip and leaned back a little to look at him, offering a lopsided smile. 

"Feeling a little better?" he asked.

"I ruined your jacket," Connor sniffed, wiping at it uselessly. 

"Ah, don't worry about it. I'm more concerned about whether you're alright." 

Connor nodded slightly, taking a deep breath and drawing himself back up to his full height, squaring his shoulders a little more confidently. "I'm sorry... the last week has been... rough. I guess that last question was the straw that broke me." he explained, rubbing at his eyes in a way that Hank couldn't help but find endearing. "I'm not normally this much of a disaster."

Hank chuckled softly, running a thumb over Connor's cheek to clear away the tear streak that was left behind. "No need to be sorry, we all get overwhelmed." 

Before he could stop himself, Hank pressed a brief kiss to Connor's forehead. He caught himself in the gesture and backed up hastily, suddenly caught between awkward apology and the need to support Connor. Judging by Connor's wide eyed stare, the gesture had caught him off guard as much as it had Hank. But the smile that followed... There wasn't any denying it now; Connor was sneaking past Hank's professional barriers, step by tiny step, and working his way into the empty space in his chest. He was handsome, no doubt about it... but the smile he gave Hank was so open, so trusting - made all the more exquisite by the rarity of it. This was Connor, as he was when the doors were closed and he didn't feel the pressures of his reputation. The Connor that Hank had been waiting to see. 

"Um... so... anyway," Hank started, clearing his throat. "How about you go and run a bath or something, get comfortable... I'll ask the caterer to make you something special. Just... take some time to look after yourself, alright?"

"Okay, Hank." Connor nodded, stepping in to give him another hug before he padded slowly up to the sanctuary of his room.


	6. Chapter 6

The following day had been set aside as a much-needed day off for Connor, which meant that Hank was relieved of his duties too; truth be told, he needed it. Between hastily packing, moving into the Stern residence and unpacking, the late night at the club and the stress of recent events... he was desperate to catch up on some sleep. 

Lounging in the large plush bed, Hank allowed himself to drift in and out of a half-asleep haze, waiting for the motivation to finally get up and start his day. During one of these fuzzy, half-conscious moments, Hank heard the door to the guest room (or _his_ room he supposed) opening quietly. He stretched slowly, eyes blinking open but squinted against the bright, late morning sun. By the time he realised what was happening, Connor was already sitting himself on the edge of the bed, something flat and silver in his hands.

"Good morning Hank, sorry if I woke you... I wasn't sure if you'd be up," he greeted, his voice low and gentle.

Hank sat up slightly and rubbed at his eyes, clearing away the last vestiges of sleep... and noticing a number of things simultaneously. First and foremost in Hank's attention was the fact that Connor was wearing only a tight pair of black boxers and a slightly-too-large white shirt; his long, slender legs unfurled from the soft fabric, tucked under his weight as he settled himself on the mattress. Hank might have stared longer if the journey of his gaze hadn't come across the tray on his lap, holding a cooked breakfast and a fresh coffee. Hank chose to believe that his mouth was salivating because of the food... definitely the food. 

"Morning, Connor" Hank greeted, his voice thick and heavy with sleep. "Please tell me that coffee's for me."

"Coffee and a fry up, courtesy of my own terrible cooking skills. I apologise in advance for the over-done bacon, but the caterer is off today," Connor smiled, handing the tray over to Hank (exposing more of his milky pale thighs as he did). 

"As it happens, I actually like my bacon a little over-done" Hank smiled, sipping his coffee and trying a bite. Credit where it was due, the food wasn't half bad. In any case, it was a damn sight better than the bowl of bran flakes he usually had. But there was something else... Hank had always joked that food tasted better when someone else made it, but he often found that it was true. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that someone had gone out of their way to do something nice for him. Specifically, Connor had gone out of his way; despite his busy lifestyle and the stress of the previous week. He had cared enough to cook Hank a meal on his day off... The thought settled in his chest, easing him into a better mood than the food alone could have managed. "Thank you, Connor. Do you often make breakfast for your security staff on your day off?"

The use of his employment title sent the faintest hint of a frown over Connor's features, causing his posture to momentarily curl in before he recovered himself. Determinedly, he pulled his weight fully onto the mattress, crossing his legs neatly as he settled himself directly facing Hank. "Actually, the breakfast is my way of saying thank you... I know I haven't been the most co-operative client but I appreciate everything you've done for me over the last few days."

Hank looked at him for a long moment, trying to place the tender notes to his tone; he sounded endearingly sincere, maybe even a little vulnerable. He knew that it couldn't have been easy for Connor to come into his room like this, to take down his professional walls and share this moment with him. Was it a 'moment'? It sure as hell felt like it. Hand-prepared breakfast in bed, a rare moment of emotional intimacy, and the look in his eyes reminded Hank of an anxious puppy, waiting to find out whether he was allowed up on the couch. Tentative, unsure, hopeful. Hank ate a little more of the breakfast before putting his cutlery down, giving Connor his full attention. 

"It's honestly been my pleasure, Con. I know things haven't been easy but I was never offended by your defensive attitude. I know it's frustrating to have your routine completely uprooted... but I think we're on better ground now. I hope we can keep building on that."

Connor nodded slightly, fiddling with a loose thread on the duvet as he tried to find the next words, fighting his instinct to stay guarded and safe. After a hesitant pause, he reached over and placed the breakfast tray on the bedside table, scooting himself over until he was sat at Hank's side; Connor gently placed his hand in Hank's work-roughened palm, fingertips moving restlessly over his skin. Hank stayed where he was, allowing Connor to make himself comfortable... he could see the direction this was taking and he knew he should discourage him, lightly shut down the advances before it went too far. But Connor was struggling to voice something, searching for ways to express it through actions if he couldn't find the words. Hank couldn't bring himself to risk putting those walls back in place now that Connor was finally ready to talk to him. Besides... Connor's skin was soft and cool against his own, the delicate weight as he leaned into Hank's arm and shoulder were a comfort that he'd long forgotten... It was comforting. It felt right.

"I'm sorry I called you a stripper," Connor started, earning a light-hearted laugh from Hank. "The truth is, I was expecting some perfectly polished Ken Doll that would follow my every order and treat me like a fragile ornament. And then mother comes to my door with someone grounded and real, a little rough around the edges but kind and patient... you didn't rise to a single comment I made and it frustrated me at first. But it... It was because..."

He hesitated, shaking his head slightly when he couldn't force the words out. Hank slipped an arm around him carefully and tried to fill in the blanks. "Because needing a bodyguard means that you're in danger, and that can be scary. It's only natural to push back against something like that, especially since I was restricting your freedom to do the things that you normally would."

Connor blinked and looked up at him, confusion and mild amusement in his gaze. After a moment, he shrugged slightly. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but I guess that's true too."

It was Hank's turn to be confused. 'Too'? He floundered for another reason, trying to figure out what Connor had meant. But his mind flickered back to the nightclub, the way Connor had looked at him before flirting with each target; the way he'd winked when Hank had shifted uncomfortably while watching his little games; the way he'd singled out a prospective partner who bore so much resemblance to Hank. The realisation ignited in his chest with a fretful heat, forcing Hank's mind into a state of shocked stillness. It had been intentional. Connor had been flirting with him after all. But why? 

Hank looked at the younger man, his flawless and trusting features, his perfectly groomed appearance, the evidence of his wealth. He was young and successful, attractive and charismatic... why on God's green earth would he be interested in an old has-been like him? Hank had heard of clients falling for their security staff out of a misaligned sense of safety and care, hell he’d had it happen himself once or twice... but this felt different somehow. It had been too soon for something like that; the dust had barely settled from Connor's initial resistance. So what was it? Why would Connor want him?

Before Hank could fully process the realisation, Connor offering him a timid smile, noticing the way Hank’s expression softened with understanding. He leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips - delicate, sweet... And wrong. Fighting every instinct that sang in his veins, Hank placed a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him away, suddenly feeling his age and inadequacy more than ever. Feeling the worthless sum of his virtues paling in comparison to Connor's. Unworthy.

"Connor... don't..." he managed, the words slow and heavy.

His heart dropped when he glanced up and caught Connor's expression, the betrayal that corrupted his gaze. He had opened up, had shared himself with Hank... and he had been rejected. He thought Hank had understood his teasing at the nightclub, had tentatively fed his affections with the small touches and gestures that Hank had given him over the last few days... the kiss he'd pressed to Connor's skin after the conference. Only to watch the moment fracture and break, like so much razor-sharp glass. The shards of it cutting into his skin wherever they touched, so he moved away with disciplined stoicism. 

"I apologise, Hank... I misread the situation..." he muttered weakly before turning for the door, ignoring Hank's protests. The door closed firmly, Connor’s carefully measured footfalls descending into a jog as he retreated to his own room.

Hank knew that he should follow Connor, should have explained the reasons why he'd pushed him away... but a foolish, cowardly part of his mind insisted that this was the kindest way. Just let Connor go and recover from the rejection, maybe even harbour a disdain for Hank, anything that would keep him at a safe distance. Anything that would prevent him from a greater hurt further down the line.

The reasons were as numerous as they were petty, but they cycled in Hank's mind, justifying his actions and reassuring him that this was the right course of action, despite the ache in his chest at the prospect of giving up on something more meaningful with Connor... After all, Hank had a dangerous profession; a job that would inevitably leave Connor heartbroken and alone if Hank were ever killed in action; not to mention the fact that Connor could be used as leverage against him, being kidnapped or threatened so that Hank would leave his post or give over a client. Even without the risk of his job, Hank had a good twenty years on Connor, so the pain of loss would hit him far too soon. Then there was the press and the fuss that would be made if they were ever seen out in public together - his reputation would be dragged through the mud, Connor would be mocked and hen-pecked by a critical media cycle, which would no doubt hurt his career. And what if people thought that Hank was using him for the money, or that people assumed their relationship was unhealthy because of the age gap. What if the stress of their careers kept them separated, working long days and lonely nights... 

Did any of those reasons really weigh heavily enough to warrant an end to something that could bring them both the stability and affection they both craved? 

The fact of the matter was that Hank had just been scared and too absorbed in his own self-loathing to allow himself the possibility of something more. Ironic, he thought - despite helping Connor to lower his defenses, Hank hadn't been able to lower his own. In reality, he knew that Connor was capable of handling the media in regards to his personal life, and that the years between them didn't really mean a whole lot. Connor was an adult, he knew what he wanted to do with his life, and he just happened to find Hank attractive... God only knew why, but he did. The only consideration to be factored into their age difference was the fact that Hank would inevitably pass away sooner... but then, as morbid as it was, there was never a guarantee. Sickness, accidents, murder... death could happen any time, and yet people allowed themselves to care for each other anyway, in spite of everything that may or may not happen. They allowed themselves to love. 

Hank sighed and ran a hand over his face, weighing up his options. Regardless of any fears or doubts, three things remained constant: he liked Connor and it seemed that Connor liked him too; he couldn't date a client; and he had hurt Connor. With everything happening in the aftermath of the Detroit Citizen Database, it wasn't safe for Connor to be out in the public eye without security so quitting before the end of his contract wasn’t an option. But maybe once the contract was over... maybe once Connor was under less scrutiny... If Connor would forgive him…

Maybe they could make this work


	7. Chapter 7

Hank might have sat there all day, wrestling with his self-doubt and insecurities - if he hadn’t heard the front door open and close. Hurrying to the window, Hank saw Connor striding towards the front gate; his elegant frame swamped in a large grey hoodie, hands stuffed into the front pocket and the hood pulled up over his ruffled hair. Hank cursed under his breath, pulling on the nearest pair of jeans and shirt before jogging after him. 

By the time he made it to the front gate, Connor was already lost from view. Checking the possible routes he could have taken, Hank fought through his panic-addled thoughts to work out the most likely path - he doubted that Connor would be going anywhere crowded, not while he was upset and stressed, so that left the coffee shop, the library or the botanical gardens. Hank’s thoughts wandered to Connor’s room, to the orchid on his nightstand when Hank had seen him comfortable and entangled in his duvet, those strong slender legs peeking from the covers; to the book that Connor had been reading when they first met, the elegant but outrageous display of fluffy hemlines and mesh robes; and to the all too recent memory of fresh coffee, the bitterness of the drink seeping into his thoughts as guilt took hold. If Connor got hurt because Hank had upset him, he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself. 

Acting on instinct, Hank followed the path towards the botanical garden, jogging as briskly as he could without causing a scene. He had no idea what he planned on doing once he caught up with Connor, it wasn’t like he’d be welcomed along as good company while Connor tried to find a quiet space for himself - and stalking him from a distance was likely to get him a free ride in a police car if someone thought Hank was a threat. There wasn’t really much choice in the matter, he’d just have to approach Connor and ask him to stay within sight, even if that meant Hank keeping his distance so Connor could keep up the illusion of being alone. 

Turning into the botanical gardens, Hank scanned the semi-open space and was relieved to see Connor sat on a bench near the pond. Slowing to a walk, he tried to get his breathing back to an acceptable level, rehearsed dialogue cycling in his mind as he drew closer. As he passed a little kiosk stand, he had an idea to help soften the blow, though he doubted it would do much to win Connor over. He had every right to be upset; rejection was tough, especially when you allowed someone to get so close, when you lowered the walls and defenses that you put in place to feel safe. Even more so, considering Hank had been leading him on all along; subconsciously or not, he’d given Connor mixed signals, then failed to explain when it mattered most.

Approaching him slowly, Hank sat on the other side of the bench and slid the fresh macchiato across the distance between them until Connor looked over. The hand-scribbled ‘I’m sorry’ written into the lid drew a humourless huff from him before he met Hank’s gaze. 

“Can’t even visit the local park without you chasing me down, huh?” he expressed dryly, ignoring the coffee.

“Sorry, Connor. If it was up to me, I’d have left you in peace. But…” Hank rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to ease out some of the tension. “Listen… this morning…”

“It’s fine, Hank. You don’t have to explain,” Connor shook his head, turning away to watch the ducks fighting for food pellets on the water. 

The words died on Hank’s tongue, uncomfortable silence curdling in the space between them. He wanted to sit closer, to draw Connor in against him, to tell him everything that had been spiralling through his mind. But the silence was so heavy… an invisible barrier between them. He stared at his own hands for a while, trying to find the best way to start. Connor was so different to anyone he had ever met - head-strong and confident, with veins of insecurity running through him, threatening to make him crumble; he was beautiful and powerful, graceful and charming. There wasn’t a thing in this world that could stand in his way if only he turned his incredible mind to it… and Hank had taken a pick straight to one of those vulnerable veins, making him feel worthless and undesired. Hank didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words, how to frame them so that Connor would understand. 

Distracted, Hank let his mind spiral, feeding on the silence and magnifying in the open space. But his attention was torn rapidly back into focus when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked, directly behind his head. 

“Don’t move…” the voice stated calmly, and Hank saw a second gun pressing to the back of Connor’s hood. No dramatic entrance, no fanfare - just walked up behind them and held them at gunpoint before they could react. Connor froze, body rigid with fear as he realised what was happening. And Hank’s chest imploded with guilt and rage - he had let Connor down on two fronts now. Unfit to be his partner, unfit to be his bodyguard.

“Alright… Alright, I’m not armed,” Hank raised his hands, watching Connor mimic the action as one of their assailants patted them down from behind. If he had to guess, Hank would say there were four of them. One for each gun, one doing the pat down and probably one more waiting with a vehicle nearby. And he hadn’t seen any of them approaching. He’d been so focused on Connor, on the mess he’d created. They were in public, somewhere open to prying eyes - he’d let his guard down. But now that he looked, Hank realised there was no-one else around. The pond was hidden from the sightline of the main entrance and the side entrance he and Connor used was completely clear of pedestrians. There was no-one around to see what was happening, no-one they could call to for help. He should have been more careful.

“Mr Stern, please stand up. Keep your hands flat against your outer thighs and walk towards the gated entrance,” the man’s voice was cool and clipped, professional. Connor stood reluctantly, wincing sharply as the gun was pressed between his shoulder blades. He looked to Hank with wide, frightened eyes and it was all Hank could do not to reach for him. To comfort him. To reassure him that it would be alright… “Mr Anderson, arms out straight in front of you, wrists crossed.”

Hank had honestly expected them to shoot him, or to knock him out and leave him there. But he supposed this was a safer move on their part. If they left him here, he’d come looking for Connor. If they killed him, they would have to waste precious time hiding his body when they needed to get Connor as far away as possible. But if they kept Hank close, made him helpless, then they’d be able to secure a second ransom. At least, Hank assumed this was about a ransom. He hoped it was… Placing his wrists together, Hank held his arms out and waited as one of the assailants bound his wrists with a plastic zip-tie. He couldn’t make out any features beneath the ski-mask and hood, but he clocked what little information he could - approximately 5’7, caucasian, male, stocky build. Once his hands were secure, Hank bent his elbows and rested his hands against his stomach, waiting as Connor was pushed towards the side entrance gate. He was prompted into action soon after, guided to follow with the barrel of the gun resting against his back. He didn’t fight. Not yet - not while they had a gun on Connor. Instead, he followed wordlessly, stopping when they were guided to a large blue car. Hank couldn’t see the license plate but he made a note of the model - VW Passat Saloon. He’d had one of his own back when he’d started the force, mainly because it had enough boot space to…. The realisation struck Hank and he sighed heavily. 

“Which one of us is being thrown into the boot?” he asked, calm but resigned. If these men had meant to kill Hank or Connor, they could have done it already, so chances were they were safe provided they didn’t lash out. He just hoped that his calmness would reassure Connor more than his words had. Besides, he figured he was more likely to be held in the boot of the car while Connor was held at gunpoint in the back seat, sat between two of the men so he didn’t try to escape.

“You’re a smart cookie, Mr Anderson,” the leader of the group mocked, opening up the space in question. “But it isn’t a case of one or the other. Can’t risk someone recognising Mr Stern while we drive out of here. So, you’re both going in the boot.”

Hank frowned, looking at the small space - it would be cramped enough if it was just just him being stored in there. But to have Connor locked up in the boot too? It would be a close fit, a very close fit. 

“Mr Stern, kindly stand chest to chest with Mr Anderson. I want you to loop your arms around his waist, while Mr Anderson lowers his arms over your shoulders,” the leader instructed, guiding them into position until he could secure Connor’s wrists with a zip tie; effectively locking them together. There wouldn’t be any way for Connor to lift his arms over Hank’s head and they wouldn’t have room in the trunk to manoeuvre for another way out. It was a smart move - Hank wouldn’t risk anything heroic if Connor was effectively strapped to his chest and it made any escape attempts all the more difficult. 

Once they were securely tied, one of the gunmen forced them back and pushed them towards the trunk. Hank sat on the edge of the boot, waiting for Connor to lean into him so he could lower them back, but their center of gravity was a lot higher than he’s anticipated, sending them falling clumsily into the lowered space. Hank had to duck hastily to avoid clipping his head on the overhanging canvas as they went down, causing him to land heavily on his shoulder. He was faintly aware of the car rocking lightly in the aftermath, then Connor shuffling uneasily to try and find a comfortable position against Hank’s chest as the boot was closed over them. It became impossibly dark, sounds growing palpable in the thick, dusty air. The most pressing sound was the jagged hiccuping of Connor’s breathing. 

“Con? Con, listen to me. It’s going to be ok,” Hank comforted, squeezing him gently to offer some security. “They’ll most likely drive us out of town, maybe for an hour or so, then we’ll be held somewhere secure until a ransom is agreed. We’ll be alright.”

Connor nodded, his cheek rubbing against the fabric of Hank’s shirt, “I’m sorry, Hank… I shouldn’t have left the house without you an-”

“Hey, hey. It’s ok. You had no way of knowing this would happen,” Hank interrupted, nuzzling against his hair gently as he spoke. “I should have been paying more attention. This is on me. I’m sorry…”

The silence that settled into the darkness with them was lighter than the kind that had weighed on them at the park, more amiable in nature. After a while, Connor shifted, moving his legs slowly until they intertwined with Hank’s, allowing him to move his weight off of his shoulder so that he could get comfortable. Unfortunately, his comfort came at the cost of Hank’s, especially given that their hips were pressed so close. He was suddenly aware of each place their bodies touched, the way their breath mixed in the minimal space between them. For a long moment, he couldn’t tell whether the boot of the car was getting warmer or whether he was blushing. But he was glad for the darkness until he could bring his self-control back into focus.

“Um...Hank?” Connor started, his voice cutting through the tension.”My arm’s going numb.Can we shuffle around a little?”

Hank nodded and shifted his weight, rolling them a little so that the bulk of his weight was propped up by his own arms. The only problem was that this left Connor pinned underneath him, their legs still entangled, bodies held close by the plastic ties and the low ceiling of the space. Hank cleared his throat uncomfortably, then felt Connor’s arms tightening around him slightly, drawing him close so that he wasn’t resting so much weight on his bound arms. His voice was intimately close to Hank’s ear as he spoke, “I guess this is what they mean when they say ‘be careful what you wish for’.”

Despite everything, Hank laughed softly. “If I thought you were this eager to get up close and personal, I’d have saved you the trouble and just given you another hug.” 

“Oh, yeah, being up close and personal. I certainly wasn’t talking about being tied up and pinned under yo-” a bump in the road cut him off, causing them to knock heads. “Ow…” 

Not knowing what else to do, Hank pressed their foreheads together, hoping the pressure would soothe the pain slightly. “That’s what you get for trying to give me a goddamn heart attack.”

There was a pause, a hesitation, before Connor turned his face away slightly and settled in for the long journey ahead. Hank got the impression that there was something he’d wanted to say, or do… He had a fairly good idea what that might have been, given that he had wanted it too. If they made it out of this in one piece, Hank was going to have to give some serious consideration to the idea of an early retirement… for a number of reasons. For now, the best he could do was to make sure Connor was comfortable and calm.

“Well, we have some time to kill. So how about we get to know each other a little better?” Hank offered. “What do you like, what are your pet peeves… have you ever had a pet?”

Smiling softly, Connor met his gaze again, eyes adjusting to the darkness. “Well, where should I start?”


	8. Chapter 8

Hank wasn’t sure how long they had been driving; it was impossible to see his watch while his hands were tied and they had no landmarks to work by. At a guess, he’d have said 45 minutes, but it could have been anywhere between half an hour and an hour and a half. Truth be told, the time passed a little quicker once they got talking, learning more about each other as they awaited their fate. Hank might have forgotten about the kidnapping altogether, if it hadn’t been for the plastic ties and the headache slowly building behind his eyes due to dehydration and the stuffy heat of the car. 

When they finally slowed to a stop, both men tensed and looked up at the roof of their enclosed space, listening for the sound of footfalls circling the car. Connor’s voice dropped into a scared whisper, his grip around Hank’s waist tightening subconsciously, “Hank… what do we do?”

“Just stay calm. It’ll be ok… We just cooperate with them, do what they ask and then we wait for someone to send a negotiator for ransom,” Hank explained, drawing on years of experience to find the most likely scenario. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here. If they’re going to rough anyone up, it’ll be me.” 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Connor answered quietly, the sound wrapping around Hank’s chest and constricting him. Christ alive, why did Connor have to be so sweet? He was easier to deal with when he was being an asshole. 

“Hey… I’ve been around the block a few times. I know how to roll with a punch. Don’t worry,” he reassured, holding Connor tight against him. 

Without warning, sunlight pierced the cramped space, temporarily blinding them as rough hands reached for their arms. They were dragged to the edge of the boot and manhandled out onto tarmac; Hank just about managed to get his balance as Connor stumbled over his own feet, forcing him to hold them both up until Connor righted himself. As he blinked against the sudden brightness, Hank registered the old house they’d pulled up to - the windows blacked out or covered in tarpaulin, the doors boarded over and the lawn left to outgrow its boundaries and spill weeds out onto the path. As far as hidey-holes went, this was a fairly typical one. Probably rumours about it being haunted to keep locals away, that or the threat of knife crime and drug deals. 

One of their captors stepped closer and cut Connor’s zip-tie loose before manoeuvring him out of Hank’s arms so that they would be able to walk without too much trouble. Stubbornly, Connor stuck close to his bodyguard’s side, slipping his arm back through Hank’s as they were guided towards the house. Hank watched the three assailants (he’d been wrong about there being a fourth, but he had been running on guesswork at best), looking for any signs that they might hurt Connor - the risks were low, given that they had taken the time to cut him free, but they were boxing them in, walking on each side of them to ensure Connor wouldn’t get far if he tried to run. Not that there was much chance of that, Connor was clinging to Hank’s arm tighter than he thought him capable of. 

As they entered through the back door, the leader of the group trained the gun back on Connor. “Come on, you follow me.”

“Not without Hank,” Connor countered firmly, but the waver in his voice gave him away. The gun was aimed more squarely on his chest and the man stepped closer, gesturing for him to move. Hank tensed when Connor stood his ground. “No… if you shoot me, you’ll get nothing. If you let me stay with Hank, I’ll cooperate.”

“You’re not in a great position to negotiate, Mr Stern. Follow my colleague,” the leader spoke up, his voice level but firm. 

Hank could feel Connor trembling, holding onto his arm like it was a lifeline - maybe he thought it was. If he let go now, Hank wasn’t convinced that his legs would carry him. Meeting the leader’s gaze, he tried a different approach, “Look, I know that you want to keep up separated. But Mr Stern is obviously very frightened. You can secure my arms behind my back and chain me to something if that helps the situation. I won’t fight you. But please, if you could keep us in the same holding space, I’m sure Mr Stern will cooperate fully.” 

The leader of the group considered this for a long moment, his cold gaze passing from Hank to Connor and back again, weighing up the risks and benefits. Stepping forward, he gestured for both of his accomplices to take one of Hank’s arms as he cut the ties; Hank didn’t fight them, just allowed them to position his arms behind his back in a parade rest and secure them again. Connor watched, moving out of the way just long enough for the men to work before latching himself back to Hank’s arm. 

“I trust you not to abuse this kindness, Mr Anderson, Mr Stern,” the leader warned, gesturing for them to follow the assailant with the gun. 

Squeezing Connor’s arm gently between his own bicep and chest in a reassuring gesture, Hank led him in the wake of the kidnapper. They were led upstairs and into one of the bedrooms - the walls were peeling after years of damp and mold, the carpet stripped away to expose the floorboards, but there was an old mattress laid out in one of the corners. Hank noted that the window had been fitted with bars that secured to the brickwork outside rather than relying on the water-swollen wood of the window frame. Whoever these guys were, they were pretty professional. If nothing else, that reassured Hank that they would get out of this ok if they kept their cool. He just had to convince Connor of that. 

The gunman gestures for Hank to sit on the mattress, next to the ancient radiator, and secured him in place with a bike chain when he complied. Connor hovered nearby, fretting at his hoodie string as his eyes darted over the details of the room. Once Hank was secured, the gunman walked back towards the door, turning to give them a recited spiel in a tired tone that confirmed to Hank that they were practiced hands at this particular trade. “Thank you for cooperating. You’ll be kept here for the foreseeable future, until we can establish contact with a negotiator to arrange for your ransom and safe return home. If you are compliant and calm, you will not be harmed. If you make any attempts to escape or retaliate against the individuals keeping you here, there will be consequences and stricter holding measures. Do you understand?”

“Loud and clear,” Hank agreed, settling his weight more comfortably on the mattress. Connor nodded timidly before hastily moving to sit at Hank’s side, using his mass as a shield between him and the gunman. 

“Alright. I’ll be back in a few hours with something to eat and drink,” their captor concluded before closing the door, locking it firmly behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

As the silence settled in around them, Hank became aware of Connor’s stuttered breathing and the subtle trembling against his side. He wanted to place an arm around him, draw him close, but he couldn’t move his arms much with the plastic ties and the chain. “Connor… look at me. It’s going to be ok. I’m right here.” 

Connor met his gaze briefly, nodding his understanding before leaning his weight more firmly against Hank. “Is it ok if I sit across your lap? I’m not trying to… not like… I just need to feel grounded for a while…” his voice was uncertain, tripping over himself to be understood. 

“Sure. Hang on,” Hank crossed his legs loosely, creating a little well for Connor to sit in, helping him to feel surrounded and supported. He moved carefully into the space, leaning against Hank’s chest before slipping his arms around him, his breath ghosting over Hank’s throat as he got comfortable. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Connor mumbled, but he sounded a little less shaken now. “How are you so calm? I feel like my heart’s going to burst through my chest.”

Hank considered the question for a moment, tipping his head slightly to rest his cheek against Connor’s hair. “I guess it comes with my job, the experiences I’ve had with the DCPD and the training I got in the process. This isn’t my first time being held hostage and I don’t mind saying that these guys are being a lot nicer about it than the last ones.”

“Aren’t you scared that they’ll hurt us if the ransom goes badly?” Connor asked, fingers tracing the breast pocket of Hank’s shirt distractedly. 

“We don’t really have a lot of control over that, I’m afraid. It’s out of our hands now. But I know that the police have a high priority response to hostage negotiation, so we shouldn’t be waiting too long. And I can’t imagine your mother is going to argue with them about the ransom price, given how much she was willing to pay me to avoid a situation like this. So I think we’ll be ok.” he explained, focusing on Connor’s breathing against his chest and stomach, the way he was slowly easing into a more relaxed state. “Speaking of being paid to protect you...I’m sorry I let this happen, Connor. I let myself get distracted. That’s why I tried to push you away when… I was worried that allowing you to get close to me would put you in danger. And, I guess I was right.”

Connor looked up at him, expression shifting and changing through a range of emotions before settling on cautious curiosity, “I thought you weren’t interested… I figured you thought I was a brat, or a complete mess. Which… I have been.”

“I think you’re gorgeous, Connor. Christ, the first time I saw you in that see-through robe? I had to remind myself to breathe,” Hank laughed softly, cuddling Connor in against him as much as he could. “And the more I get to know you, the more I’m starting to realise that the person underneath that beautiful exterior is just as perfect. You’re kind and considerate; granted, you’re also stubborn but I kind of like that. You’re passionate about the things you care about, and that’s admirable. I guess I didn’t realise that you felt the same way until it was too late, and I was trying to create space to protect you but… I’m starting to wonder whether that was the best option. I can’t tell where the sensible choice ends and my self-consciousness begins.”

“Self-consciousness?” Connor cupped his cheek gently, moving so that he was sat with one leg elegantly draped each side of Hank’s waist. “Hank, I think you’re amazing. You’re so calm and reassuring, and it helps me to stay focused when things are taking a left turn. You’re built like something out of a dream… like, who gave you permission to be that tall and broad?” 

Hank actually laughed at that, nuzzling gently into Connor’s palm. “And I’m old, Connor. And scruffy. I’m not well-spoken or upper class… I feel like a peasant amongst royalty when I’m with you.”

“That’s one of my favourite things about you, Hank. When I’m talking to you, I’m not on edge. You don’t try to throw me off with careful phrasing or thinly-veiled motives.” Connor smiled, his walls slowly falling as he realised that he was safe to share these thoughts, able to share his real feelings without repercussions. “And I don’t care about your age. We’re both adults, so I don’t see that it matters. I like the person you are, the way you act and talk. You’re honest and open, and you encourage me to be the same way. I like that you’re not polished, I find it exciting and reassuring. I… I like it a lot.”

There was a blush settling into Connor’s lightly freckled cheeks, his face tipped down to hide from judgement. Hank wished he hadn’t offered to have his hands tied - there was nothing he wanted to do more than to hook a finger under Connor’s chin and bring his gaze back, to guide him closer, to kiss him. To show him how much his words meant.   
“You know… you never got to drink that macchiato,” Hank mused casually, looking down to meet Connor’s confused gaze. “We’ll have to go get another coffee sometime, maybe share a dessert, or grab a drink somewhere if that’s more your speed.”

“You smooth bastard,” Connor grinned. “That...actually sounds really nice.” 

Connor hesitated for a moment before pressing a kiss to his cheek and settling in against him. Regardless of what happened from here on out, Hank wasn’t going to allow anyone to hurt Connor. Not the public, not the media, no-one. It was just ironic that he’d probably have to give up his job as Connor’s personal security guard to do it. He would have to resign if he wanted to pursue a relationship with Connor, but he was starting to come to terms with that option. Truth be told, he would probably have resigned anyway, given that he had been so ineffective as Connor’s bodyguard anyway. He could recommend some very reliable young men and women to Ms Stern as replacements, but he would feel wrong working on her dollar after this shit-show. 

All that could wait. For the moment, he was content to sit with Connor, comforting him as they waited for their ransom negotiator to step onto the scene.


	10. Chapter 10

It was only a few hours until their negotiator arrived on the scene; the time spend talking over their memories and aspirations, anecdotes and personal fears. Talking felt easy with Connor, like there were no wrong answers. And the way he fit perfectly in the space between Hank’s legs, his gentle hands working the tense muscle of his shoulders when the cuffs grew uncomfortable, it felt right. They had just gotten onto the subject of pets when a distorted, semi-electronic voice cut through the quiet afternoon air.

“This is the Detroit Police, my name is Detective Reed, I’m here on your request to discuss the safe release of Mr Connor Stern,” the megaphoned voice rang out. 

“Aah, shit,” Hank groaned, tipping his head back to lean against the wall.

“Isn’t this a good thing? Our negotiator is here…” Connor asked, frowning slightly. “I mean, I’m enjoying our time together too, but I’d rather do it at home.”

Hank huffed a breath of laughter and shook his head, “Having a negotiator is a good step. Having Gavin “shoot first, ask questions later” Reed is a bad step. I worked with this asshole back when I was on the force. He’s smart but he’s reactive. And if Reed is working the megaphone, I wouldn’t be surprised if his partner was nearby with a scope.” Hank explained, trying to remember the lay out of the grounds. From the sounds of things, Reed was on the front drive of the house, drawing attention to the ground. Hank couldn’t remember if there was a vantage point nearby, but he’d seen the way Nines worked - if there wasn’t a vantage point, he’d make one. This wasn’t a simple exchange, this was a hostage situation; if these two had been sent to negotiate, initial talks must not have gone too well. “Just….if anything happens, try to get to Reed. I’m not saying anything will happen, but if it does… get to Reed and he’ll cover you. Don’t put yourself at risk staying here with me if something goes south.”

“You’re not inspiring a lot of confidence right now, Hank.”

“Connor, please. Promise me.”

“Alright. Alright, I’ll go to Detective Reed if anything happens,” he promised, nuzzling against Hank’s shoulder reassuringly. 

“Do me a favour, go to the window and see if it’s just Reed stood on the drive. If he’s on his own, scan the area and see if you can spot his partner. Tall, broad guy, hair a little like yours, probably hiding behind something or on a rooftop.” Hank instructed, watching as Connor made his way to the window, peeking out from the bottom sill.

“There’s one man stood on the driveway, he’s wearing a bulletproof vest,” Connor commentated, scanning the area. “I can’t see anyone else. But I can only see one side of the lawn from this angle. He might be on the other side.”

Hank uttered a low curse and sighed heavily. This was going to end badly. If initial talks with the kidnappers had gone well, they would have sent Miller or Collins, handed the money over and brought Connor out safely. If they’d sent Gavin, it meant that they were expecting a fire-fight - Reed and Nines were heralded as the precinct’s ‘Take Down Team’ thanks to Nines’ proficiency with a sniper rifle and Reed’s skill behind the wheel. Hank tugged at the cuffs lightly and tried to figure out the best plan of action. 

Reed and Nines hadn’t immediately tried for an assault tactic so there was still a chance that this could go down smoothly. But the bulletproof vest wasn’t exactly reassuring. An unhurried shuffle of feet along the corridor outside the room caught Hank’s attention, allowing him to track the movements of the guy who had led them up here. The sound of a door opening at the front of the house, probably the front, signalled the start of the negotiation. 

“You’ve turned up a little overdressed, detective. Should we be worried?” the voice of the leader was muffled and distant but they could make it out well enough through the thin walls. 

“Not as long as you play by the rules. Come on, we have your money, go fetch the hostages so we can see that they’re safe,” Reed demanded, as persuasive as ever. 

There was the familiar metallic slide and click of a weapon being loaded in the corridor, causing Hank to tense. Connor looked at him, fear settling back into his dark eyes as he returned to Hank’s side and listened for more voices. This was bad. Especially since Hank couldn’t figure out where the third captor was positioned. If the gunman in the corridor took out Reed, Nines would take out the exposed target, exposing his position. From there, it was only a matter of time until the remaining captors took action; either hunting Nines down or punishing the law by taking out Connor. Hank prayed that the Mexican Stand-off lasted long enough for him to get out of these cuffs. At least then he would be able to protect Connor to some small extent. 

“As you wish,” the leader’s voice replied, calm and confident, where Gavin’s was authoritative and tense. Hank couldn’t think of a worse candidate for this assignment. What the hell happened during first contact…

The footsteps of the third captor broke his train of thought, followed by the scrape of metal on metal at the key was turned in the lock. Connor’s arms had snaked their way around Hank’s bicep and were squeezing painfully hard, his gaze fixed on the door as the masked figure came in, pistol in hand. “Mr Stern, stand by the window. If you so much as take a step towards me while I unchain Mr Anderson, I will shoot.”

Connor whimpered almost inaudibly, but the sound tripped into Hank’s ear due to their close proximity. He leaned his cheek against Connor’s temple gently. “It’s ok, Con. Just stand by the window and it’ll all be ok.” 

Reluctantly, Connor released Hank’s arm and hurried to the window, risking a peek outside before his gaze fixed firmly back on Hank. The stranger kept his weapon pointed in Connor’s direction as he approached Hank, taking a key from his pocket. Hank watched carefully, noting that he would be using the key in his dominant hand, which meant the gun was being used more for the sake of the threat than any real intention to shoot. The way he was holding it too, arm out straight with no give in the elbow, suggested that he’d need to adjust his stance before firing a shot, which would give Hank a fraction of a second to interrupt the shot if it came down to it. Thankfully, Connor stayed calm and waited at the window as the chain was released, Hank’s arms released from cuffs before the gun was pointed at his face. 

“We’re going to walk out of this room and down to the front door. You will wait beside me until the money is retrieved. If you attempt to run, or if shots are fired, the first bullet that leaves my gun will go straight through Mr. Stern’s skull. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal” Hank agreed, rubbing his wrists to ease the strips of sore skin where the cuffs had cut into him. “Don’t worry. We’ll stay put until you’ve got the money in your hands.”

Connor nodded urgently, fingers toying at his hood strings an a distressed twist and wrapping motion. The masked captor stepped back and gestured with the gun for Connor to stand with Hank, then he ushered them out of the room in single file. Hank let Connor walk in front of him, putting his body between him and the gun. As they walked out of the room, Hank could sight of one of the men stood at the end of the hall, aiming a hunting rifle through a punched-out pane of the window. 

Hank just hoped that Nines would be covering Connor as a priority when this inevitably went to shit. In his experience, any negotiation held at gunpoint was likely to end badly.


	11. Chapter 11

Hank blinked back the bright sunlight as they stepped out of the abandoned house, Connor sticking close to his side as they were boxed in by the two kidnappers. The leader of the group walked slowly, placing himself directly in front of Connor once Reed had been given a chance to see that he was alive and well. It was a smart move. Nines wouldn’t be able to get a shot on him without hitting Connor - unless he was positioned to the side, but that would limit his view; which meant that, chances were, he was facing the front of the house. What was more unsettling was the fact that the leader had moved into this position at all - he knew, or at least suspected, that there was a gunman nearby. 

“You and Mr Stern ok, Hank?” Reed called out, ignoring the way the second captor held a pistol to Hank’s side. 

“Just peachy, Reed. Just give them the money so we can get out of here already.” Hank snapped, wanting Connor out of the firing line as soon as possible. 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve got the money right here,” Gavin gestured to a briefcase leant against his boot.

“And the key to the Detroit database?” the leader spoke up, and Hank’s stomach dropped. 

That’s why they’d sent Reed. This wasn’t about money, this was a backhanded way to play Senator Stern’s hand against her. Steal her son, force her to compromise the database that she was under fire for. If the database was breached, the riots would start. Once the riots started, Stern would have no choice but to resign and the database would be taken offline. “Son of a bitch…” Hank grumbled, rubbing his palms over his face as he tried to think.

“You know we can’t give you that,” Reed asserted, hooking his thumbs into his belt and subconsciously positioning his hand near his firearm. Idiot. He was going to spook the kidnappers and get them all shot if he didn’t focus. “I believe we came to the agreement that you’d let Mr. Stern go if we raised the monetary figure. That figure was met. So, let Mr. Stern and Mr. Anderson go.”

The leader of the gang sighed and gestured with an empty hand to the gunman at Hank’s side. “I’m going to give you one warning, detective. The money and the key to the database, or Mr Anderson is going to receive a rather unfortunate injury.”

“Hank... “ Connor’s frightened voice broke against his skin, causing Hank to turn his gaze.

He was shaking, face bloodless and fixed with fear. “Connor, it’s ok. Stay there, don’t move,” he murmured quietly, wincing as the muzzle of the gun was pressed firmly into his lower back. He tried to track the scenario, figuring out the details: if he was shot, Nines would take out the gunman at his side to prevent him shooting Connor; the gunman in the window would shoot Reed; then Nines would shoot the gunman in the window or the leader, but there wouldn’t be enough time for him to shoot both before the remaining captor got Connor in their sights. This is no time to be a hero, Hank. 

Looking up at Reed, Hank caught his eye and felt steel building in his chest. Reed was watching the leader, making a show of deliberating and weighing up their options. He was stalling, telling the leader to stay calm and that he was going to throw the briefcase to them first, as a sign of good will. They could discuss the key once the gun was taken off Hank. No, wait, he hadn’t quite said it like that. “We’ll discuss the situation with the key once you take the gun off Hank.”

Once you take the gun off Hank. - a subtle emphasis on the words, his gaze flicking to the ex-cop to ensure he caught the message before he reached for the case. 

Shit.

He didn’t have time to work out the flow of action, having to rely on the junior officer to have thought this one out. It grated on him, letting Reed of all people lead him into combat blind… but he’d been given this case for a reason and Hank had seen what he was capable of. He just hoped that Connor would remember what he’d said about getting to Reed.

As the case was thrown, Hank threw his weight to the side and tackled the gunman, a shot firing harmlessly into the wall of the house as Hank wrestled him down. An answering shot tore through the air, accompanied by breaking glass as the gunman in the window was taken out. The leader instinctively reached for the case as it was thrown at him, a reflexive action that cost him precious seconds as Gavin drew his side arm and shot his left shin, taking him down. Grabbing at his assailant’s wrist, Hank beat it down against the sun-baked ground until his grip loosened on the gun; he grabbed it and ran, making his way towards Reed. 

But Connor had tripped and fallen sometime during the fray, his legs weakened with terror as he’d tried to run. Hank changed his direction, kneeling to help him up; he’d barely gotten an arm around his shoulders when another shot broke through the air between them. A splatter of blood decorated Connor’s frightened features, and there was a long, fractured moment before Hank realised that it was his own. Pain exploded in his shoulder, delayed by the shock, stealing his breath as he tried to summon enough air to scream. 

“Hank!” Connor shouted, slapping away Reed’s hand as the detective hastened to their side and tried to pull him away. The crack of Nines’ rifle put a stop to the conflict, taking out the leader as he aimed the pistol for another shot. The only sound left was the panicked footfalls as the remaining gunman fled.

“Hank…” Connor’s voice broke Hank out of his daze, drawing his attention back to the glacier of agony in his shoulder. “Detective Reed, quickly, call someone!”

Reed radioed dispatch and requested paramedics, respectfully but inaccurately referring to Hank as an ‘officer down’. Even now, after all his failings and mistakes - Reed thought of him as an officer. “Con… I’m so sorry…” he managed, settling his weight carefully as shock and blood loss caused the world to soften and spin. He closed his eyes as he felt Connor’s soft hands on his face, clinging to him as the world muted and greyed out. He was so tired… 

There was another set of hands on his torso, firmer and far less gentle as they applied pressure to the wound. Hank felt a nauseating wave of pain reignite along his body and the world slipped into some abstract set piece. Conscious, but not focused. Hearing but not understanding. He’d felt shock before, but it didn’t help him. 

“Lieutenant Anderson, please lie back. Follow my hand,” Nines’ cool, calm voice instructed him, helping him to lie back. A vague memory of first aid training, lay the victim on the entry wound. The exit wound will be larger and will bleed more heavily. 

Something soft was placed under his head and he lost track of the hands. Nines’ on his shoulder and chest, Connor’s in his hair. Something wet and warm against his forehead… before it all faded into the comfort of sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

It was a few hours before Hank finally came to, his shoulder pounding with a steady rhythm of tender pain. Blinking back the heavy blanket of lethargy, he clawed his way back to consciousness, bracing himself for the thick miasma of hospital cleaning supplies and the blinding light of overhead strip lights. Instead, he opened his eyes to the gentle light of a bedside lamp, the reassuring scene of his new bedroom in the Stern residence stretching out around him. He shifted his weight, groaning as it sparked a fresh wave of pain through his back and chest. 

“Hank… you’re awake,” Connor’s voice greeted him, followed quickly by his delicate frame perched on the edge of the bed as he took Hank’s hand in his. 

“Connor… what... “ Hank settled his weight back against the numerous pillows, squeezing Connor’s hand gently. “No hospital?”

“After everything that happened, I thought you’d be more comfortable here. I called for our private doctor, she’s left some painkillers and fresh dressings here just in case, but she’ll be back to change the bandages herself tomorrow.” He explained, stroking his free hand over Hank’s forearm, massaging gently into his tired muscles. “Are you…. How are you feeling?”

“Feels sore… but I feel all the better for seeing you,” Hank smiled, lifting his uninjured arm and gesturing for Connor to cuddle in against him. Smiling, Connor crawled into the space and slipped his arm along the hollow of Hank’s lower back, pressing close. Hank held him loosely, taking a moment to enjoy the simple comfort of having someone beside him, caring for him, caring about him. “Things got a little crazy at the end there, huh?”

Connor nodded slightly, pressing a kiss to Hank’s bare shoulder, the delicate fingers of his free hand tracing gentle patterns onto Hank’s exposed chest, tracing the line of his bandages guiltily. “You kept me safe. When we got outside, everything just went so fast… the first shot was fired and I panicked; I tried to run to Detective Reed like you told me but I missed the step and…” his voice faded out, the traumatic memory visible in his features as he tried to push it aside. After a long moment, he sighed. “I’m thinking of leaving Detroit for a while.”

The words stuck in Hank’s throat, making his breath shallow and light as he processed what Connor was saying. He knew that it was probably the safest thing to do right now - get Connor away from the city, allow him to recover from the trauma of the last few days in peace, somewhere secluded, carefully guarded, at least until the whole Citizen Database situation was resolved. But that would mean Connor leaving Detroit, leaving Hank… Just went things were starting to develop and change between them. It was selfish, but he didn’t want to lose out on that. He wanted Connor here with him. “I won’t be able to guard you while I’m led up in bed like this, Connor… but I can recommend a few guards who can keep you safe.”

Connor frowned slightly, looking at him with concern and a glimmer of uncertainty. “Keep us safe…”

Hank looked to him, meeting those bright, warm eyes as realisation struck. “You want me to go with you.”

“Well, yes. I thought that much would have been obvious,” Connor laughed lightly, the sound tickling over Hank’s shoulder, breaking against his neck and inspiring his own. 

“Give me a break. I’ve got more sedatives and painkillers in my system than blood at the moment,” Hank smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “If we do this… if we see where things lead between us, I’ll have to hand in my notice as your bodyguard.”

“I know... I’ve spoken with my mother and she’s willing to give you a compensatory pay-out for your injury during your service with us. It should be enough to tide you over while you recover.”

“Thank you but… after the way I’ve let you down, I can’t accept that kind of generosity…”

“I told her that you’d probably say that,” Connor winked, kissing his cheek sweetly. “So, how about this instead?”

Connor moved slowly, settling himself across Hank’s lap and cupping his cheek in one impossibly perfect hand. He leaned close, brushing his nose against Hank’s before closing the distance between them, kissing him sweetly. Soft, unhurried. When he finally leaned back, allowing reality to seep back in at the edges, there was a light blush along his cheeks. 

“Come with me to Canada, we’ll take a vacation and rest up, get to know each other better... And when we come home, you can use that money to buy a property nearby, so you’ll never be too far away.”

Hank smiled, gingerly leaning forward to steal another kiss, deeper and more confident now. Pain tingled over his arm and shoulder but it was worth it for the taste of him against his tongue. 

“That sounds perfect,” Hank hummed, drinking in the sight of him, the miracle that was Connor Stern. “Just promise me that we’ll stay away from nightclubs and botanical gardens.”

Connor’s laugh melted between their lips as he kissed him, fingers tangling in his hair.

They had faced so much together in a little more than a week, but Hank wouldn’t change a moment of it. The club, the kidnapping, the bullet wound… it was all worth it if he got to hold Connor against him and know that, whatever happened, they were going to be ok. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”


End file.
